Leaving the WTC in Jl. Sudirman at 6.30 ~ that's the business area of Jakarta in rush hour ~ I didn't expect to get a taxi in a hurry. After all, I'd just spent the last hour observing a cracking thunderstorm from the umpteenth floor.

I knew it would be hell out there, with overflowing gutters, barely moving traffic belching out its noxious fumes and a bevy of pedestrians toting umbrellas and jostling each other on the sidewalks (US) / pavements (GB). But I had forgotten the swarm of Suzukis driven by hell's cherubs who would also be jousting for our space.

I decided to make a stand. Literally. Any two-wheelers which tried to hijack the pedestrianised potholes or my space were fair game. I scored seven - forcing them back onto the road - and not one got past my defences.

A loud aggressive expat is a wondrous sight, even when it's dark, and I got some polite praise for my efforts from at least two people. The other fifty were too embarrassed and moved meekly aside.

But I felt good and even better when, after ten minutes, I managed to get my ride home. It was then that I thought of what I could, nay should, have done.

You see, motorcyclists are particularly defenceless; they need both hands to hold their handlebars and they only put their feet on the ground when they've stopped. It is at that precise moment that, in future, I'll grab their ignition keys and drop them in the gutter.

If enough of us do that, the word will spread and the greedy little shits will think twice about writing their own Highway Code.